The Learning Curve
by Jynxiii
Summary: ((Ballet AU genderfluid!Furihata)) In which Seijuro learns that people are not always how they first seem and relying on people is not a weakness. Cross-posted on tumblr and ao3.


**The Learning Curve**

Rating: T  
Warnings: suggestive content  
Pairings: AkaFuri; HimuroxKise (my beloved crack OTP)  
Notes: Ballet AU. And genderfluid Kōki has to be a thing so bad. Forgive any mistakes with ballet terminology; all I know is limited innate knowledge from my French background and not much else.  
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Sometimes the transfer from one ballet school to another was easy - during which Seijūrō would think _'this is it, I've found my niche_' - and other times it would be unbearably painful, when at the sight of the building his heart would sink. But either way, it wouldn't last long. He would learn what he could, and every time something too strong would be compelling him to leave. _Not this place... not this place..._ After a while he forgot what it was he was looking for; if there even _was_ something he was looking for.

But this new one seemed hopeful. It was relatively small, built out of an old mansion of about 40 en-suite rooms upstairs, each housing three to four students, and the ground floor was split into three large rooms; two ballet studios and a dining room. Very different to his last one in France, where each room was single and the various studios around the city collectively covered a massive five thousand square feet.

"Not in Paris anymore," he said. Clear the other side of the world, in fact, as the Japanese on the sign revealed. Back home after all these years.

A short girl came out of the main door with a clipboard.

"Akashi Seijūrō?"

Seijūrō nodded, dimly recognising her voice from the phone. "I take it you're Aida Riko?"

"Yes. Follow me. You can leave your bags here; they'll be taken up to your room as I'm showing you around." She ushered him in through the door, which opened directly into one of the ballet studios. "We're just using the other studio for this week," she said when Seijūrō frowned at the scuffs and undulations in the varnish. "This one will be sanded and revarnished over the next few days." Their steps echoed in the empty room as Seijūrō looked up at the expanse of white ceiling. Simple and as utilitarian as possible, it couldn't be further from the opulence of _l'Académie des arts _in Paris. But somehow it worked. "I can't say how happy we are you decided to join this school," Riko continued.

"Is that so?" Seijūrō said.

"Of course. You're very talented and to tell you the truth we don't have many men in the school."

Seijūrō smiled slightly. "Every school has that problem." If he'd been heterosexual, then it would have been like a playground, being in countless boarding schools with a lot of very pretty, not to mention rather flexible, girls.

"But with your skill you might inspire other boys to take it up."

She opened the door to the next studio, which had been split into two by a line of chairs. In one half, a small group of boys were stretching and in the other the girls were doing simple _port de bras_ (until they noticed Seijūrō and several groups started nudging their neighbours and gesturing in his direction).

"You will be having two hours instructed practice on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons," Riko informed him. "The amount you practice by yourself is up to you. The old servants' quarters just round the west side of the building has been renovated into another couple of smaller studios specifically for non-instructed practice and one-on-one tuition."

The _port de bras_ turned into _plié_ interspersed with _petit saut_ at a barked order from the instructor, a tall man who wore glasses and short, dark hair. Seijūrō watched them silently. Their form was maybe not as precise as in _l'Académie_, but something about it - freeness, lightheartedness, maybe? - was pleasing to him.

"Furihata, what on earth was that supposed to be? Do it again."

He appeared to be addressing one near the back, who flinched, losing her balance slightly before righting herself.

"He's always so _harsh_," Riko muttered from next to Seijūrō. "Especially to Kōki."

"People don't learn if the instructors are too soft and-" he paused. "Wait, what did you call her?"

Riko frowned in confusion before breaking out into an amused smile. "Furihata Kōki."

Seijūrō shot a glance to the girl, where she had stopped, rotating her ankles with a slight grimace. "One of those 'fashionable' families?" he asked, making quotation marks in the air. "Naming a girl a boy's name? I thought that was more prevalent in the west." He had met the odd girl whilst in England called 'Dylan' or 'James' after all.

"Kōki's a boy. At least, he's genderfluid."

Seijūrō looked at her again. It was true, her jaw was slightly more square than what was generally expected of a Japanese girl. The lack of breasts hadn't even ticked him off; most of the girls here, in fact, were flat chested, or at least bound their breasts to make dancing easier. Whilst he still remained confused Riko continued. "More or less androgynous, also, when he wants to be."

"I thought there weren't enough boys."

"There aren't. He's not comfortable dancing as a boy."

"Still, as a sense of duty—"

"It's his decision. He's a paying student so he can dance as a girl if he wants to."

Rather an odd situation, Seijūrō thought to himself, but the way she said it warranted no discussion or dispute on the matter.

She told him once she'd shown him to his room (his bags already placed neatly on his new bed) that he would, in fact, be sharing a room as well as many school classes, with this Furihata Kōki and an upperclassman called Himuro Tatsuya_. "He gets very protective of Kōki," _she had warned him just before stepping out to leave him to unpack_. "They grew up together so they're very close. I wouldn't say anything detrimental."_

_"I wouldn't dream of it," _he had responded_._

And of course he wouldn't. He already knew enough of the unfortunate effects of bullying from when he'd gone to a normal school; the only boy there who had a passion for the ballet and had homosexual tendencies. Even though now such weak abuse wouldn't bother him at all, not everyone had such a keen confidence and sense of self as he did at sixteen. He unpacked his things slowly before the door opened behind him.

"You must be Akashi Seijūrō." The one who had entered was tall and had dark hair which fell over his forehead, covering one eye. Instead of looking at all welcoming, he crossed his arms and narrowed his visible eye.

"Yes," Seijūrō answered, not in the least bothered. He sat on his bed in the most relaxed pose he could manage (just to annoy him, really). "Himuro-senpai, I presume?"

He blinked and dropped his arms uncertainly. "Um. Yeah."

Seijūrō started to gather his bags together to put them under the bed. "About the person we're sharing with, I heard you're a childhood friend and I have no wish to cause offence, so how should I refer to them?"

"Just 'he' is fine."

The voice wasn't Himuro's and when Seijūrō turned he saw that Furihata had entered. Himuro took one look at the two of them before stepping between their bodies as if Seijūrō would go into a blind rage and attack.

"But thank you for considering it. Not many people do." He perched at the corner of his bed and tucked his knees up nervously.

It really was quite extraordinary. If he hadn't known to search his features for the lines that betrayed his biological gender he wouldn't have been able to guess, even when he took the pins out of his hair and it was only a little longer than Seijūrō's, the fringe just reaching to his eyes.

"How was Hyuuga?" Himuro asked, sitting on the bed next to him. Seijūrō turned his face away, though he was still listening rather curiously.

"He's fine, Tatsuya. Stop worrying about me."

"I'm going to worry when you're surrounded by prejudiced dickheads."

Seijūrō couldn't be sure, of course, with his back turned to the duo, but he had the distinct impression that Himuro was glaring at him. Which was unwarranted; hadn't he gone out of his way to be sure he wouldn't offend Furihata?

"I can handle it," Furihata insisted as Seijūrō shoved a Japanese history textbook into his desk drawer. Maybe he wouldn't be staying here as long as he had previously thought. "He's the best instructor."

"Do you still need help with your maths?"

"No, I'm fine." The bed springs squeaked and the door opened and shut. Sure enough, when Seijūrō turned again Himuro was alone on the bed, watching the door whilst chewing on his bottom lip. He turned to look at Seijūrō narrowly when he picked a notebook and stood up.

"I'd rather you didn't speak to him," he said.

Seijūrō held back a laugh and cocked his head. "So I'm supposed to completely ignore him? As if that will put him any more at ease?"

"You don't understand—"

"No," Seijūrō interrupted. "No, I don't, Himuro-senpai. But I don't need to. It's not like I'll be staying here long." He made his way to the door, picking up few pens on the way.

"Shouldn't you be resting if you've just come from Paris?"

He did seem concerned, which startled Seijūrō a bit. Maybe he shouldn't be so harsh; he must have a strong mama-bird instinct developed from his self-instigated role of protector over Furihata as his baby bird. "I've been in Japan for a couple of weeks now," he said before slipping out.

The school buildings were further down the driveway, situated around a courtyard. The library, Seijūrō's destination, had been renovated from an old barn, but was still surprisingly warm and relatively high-tech. Only two students were there, from which Seijūrō could see, until he located where the biology textbooks were and saw that the table nearest to them was occupied by Furihata. After selecting a few books he went to place them on the same table. "Mind if I join you?"

It was rather amusing, to say the least, when Furihata yelped and clapped a hand over his mouth, blushing scarlet. "G-go ahead," he stuttered, motioning awkwardly towards the other side of the table.

Right now, Seijūrō couldn't even tell what gender he was posing as. If he were to be stereotypical, then the grey, baggy sweatshirt would suggest a boy, but the faint shadows of eyeliner could suggest a girl, unless he hadn't been bothered to take it off properly.

This was hurting his head.

He did a few questions from the textbook (almost switching into French a few times; he'd been there so long) until he realised that Furihata was pretty much frozen, staring at the same paragraph as if it had grown legs and was somehow pirouetting on the page.

"Himuro-senpai is quite protective of you, then?" Seijūrō said gently, trying to put him at ease. Sharing a room could get quite difficult if every time he spoke to him he would freeze like a rabbit who'd had his nose tapped.

"Yeah, he is," he answered, nervously pulling his sleeves down over his hands.

Another couple of questions, this time focussing hard on keeping his thoughts in Japanese so his writing wouldn't switch to French.

"I'm sorry," Furihata said, and Seijūrō was surprised enough that he stopped writing. "I've never been very confident around people, and of everyone, I never expected to meet _you_." He looked at Seijūrō uncertainly. "Sorry," he repeated.

It was obvious what he was talking about. Seijūrō was well aware that he was considered a _'prodige extraordinaire'_ by a lot of people in the ballet world, made rather transparently evident by the numerous journalists who had hounded him when he was in Paris.

"I mean, you're the same age as me but you're way above my level. You learnt in Europe." He blushed when Seijūrō narrowed his eyes. "Sorry," he repeated again.

"Stop apologising."

"So—" he broke off and his eyes widened as he blushed.

He was _adorable_.

The sudden thought surprised him and he coughed before closing the textbooks. "I'll see you later," he said as he got to his feet. "Don't stay up too late." Furihata nodded, watching him as he left.

They settled into a sort of routine over the next couple of weeks, during which Furihata slowly became more comfortable in his presence and Himuro more-or-less warmed up to him to tepid proportions. The lessons, both dance and school, were easy enough, even with the barrier of having been educated in Paris and Moscow for the past ten years of his life. He found out that Furihata was quite a lot like himself, spending every free moment he had immersed with ballet, and often had to be restrained by Riko or Himuro from practicing well into the night. It became a habit to go down to the studios in the old servant's quarters and practiced together, in fact. He may have had some difficulties with technical perfection, but his passion was genuine and absolute and it quickly became one of Seijūrō's favourite things to watch him dance.

Actually, settling in in general was easier than it usually was. He hadn't shared a room since the school in Moscow, and though he had been apprehensive, both were surprisingly adept at keeping their belongings tidy, and of course Seijūrō kept his own possessions neat.

Saturday's lessons were always particularly grilling as Riko was the instructor and both girls and boys rehearsed together. Riko, though being very fond of all her students, had a quality to her that made everyone compelled to try especially hard (after all, in Hyuuga's case it was usually fear that motivated people, which wasn't conducive to a good posture and balance for the majority).

"What is Hyuuga's problem?" Seijūrō asked Furihata as they went upstairs after that Saturday's rehearsal.

Furihata smiled and ran his fingers through his hair to put it back into place, settling back into his 'default' (which Seijūrō had discovered was agender more than anything). "He didn't really want to be a ballet instructor. He's never liked anything 'girly' as such."

"How do you accidentally become a ballet instructor?" Seijūrō asked blankly, opening the door to their room for Furihata to go in first.

"I have no idea. That's just what Kiyoshi-sensei said. He does enjoy dancing himself, and he's very good."

"That doesn't make much sense."

Furihata smiled good-naturedly. "Not much does," he said cheerily. "You can use the bathroom first if you want."

The day was spent as Saturdays usually were, relaxing and doing various pieces of homework. Furihata was one to work sporadically, so the majority of the time he was on his bed lying on his front and reading magazines.

"You're in basically _all_ of these," he said at one point of the evening.

Seijūrō put his English work to one side. "All wonderful things, I suppose?" he said, slightly bitterly.

"They could be calling you a rich spoilt bastard for all I know. It's in French."

If it had been anyone else implying that he was a rich spoilt bastard (and apparently stealing his magazines - why would Furihata have magazines in French?) then he would have been furious. As it was, Himuro did send a surprised look at them upon the exchange, but Seijūrō only rolled his eyes in response. That smile was enough to stop any anger in its tracks.

"Insulting me and stealing from me?"

Furihata closed the magazine and pointedly reached for another.

Seijūrō had been aware of himself for long enough to know that his temporary fondness for Furihata was getting dangerous, especially as he was starting to find him attractive even when he was posing as a girl. Acting on his feelings was impossible with Himuro, though; he watched over Furihata like a bear over her cub.

Almost as if his thoughts had summoned Himuro's, he announced (whilst narrowly watching Seijūrō): "I'm going back home next Monday for a couple of weeks."

Seijūrō froze and Himuro glared at him. Alone... every single night in a room alone with Furihata? "I can't change it. So you'll have to struggle without me." Himuro kept his glare on Seijūrō even as he turned away. He really was perceptive; it was obvious what the 'struggle' he was referring to was.

"I'm sure we'll do fine," Furihata said, not picking up on the insinuation.

"You'd better," Himuro said. Seijūrō turned to fix him with a glare as equally cold as his tone and Furihata looked at them both, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Are... you two okay?" he asked.

Himuro broke the glare off to smile comfortingly at Furihata. "We're fine, Kōki."

The dread made the time fly by, as was always the case and then it was time for Himuro to leave (having pulled Seijūrō to the side to tell him that he was _not_, under any count, to hurt Kōki or even _think_ of touching him) and he ruffled Furihata's hair affectionately before gathering his bags.

"You two have been acting really weirdly recently," Furihata said once he'd left.

"I haven't been here that long," Seijūrō pointed out.

Furihata looked at Seijūrō with a small smile. "It's true. Seems like I've known you all my life, though."

Seijūrō wanted to agree with him, and more, that it was the strength of his attachment to Furihata that kept him here and that he wanted to know him every day for the rest of his life, but saying those sorts of things out loud was ridiculous so he just inclined his head. Furihata seemed satisfied with his response and stretched his arms up. "I might turn in early, actually—"

"No you won't," Seijūrō interrupted. "We're going to practice." He ignored Furihata's whines and attempts at coercion as he dragged him down the stairs.

He threw himself into the dancing pretty passionately for someone who had wanted to stay in bed and Seijūrō stopped his own practice to watch. He couldn't help it; Furihata was too beautiful not to watch. After executing a _pas de chat_ he stopped, stumbled a bit and looked at Seijūrō uncertainly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Seijūrō decided to say the truth; or at least part of it. "You're really beautiful, you know."

He shifted and looked down, always more shy when he was dancing.

"Have you thought about the end of year performance?" Seijūrō said when Furihata was still looking down.

"For Swan Lake?" he paused and moved into an open fourth position. "Of course I'd want the part of Odette," he continued, slightly glumly. "But... well." He plucked at his top before sighing and turning into a sequence of _chaînés_.

"I think you could do it," Seijūrō continued to watch him.

"It's not just about that." He stopped his turns. "Both Riko and Hyuuga are in charge of casting. I've never been in a performance because Hyuuga thinks I'll ruin the aesthetic. He's probably right."

Seijūrō sighed and fought the surge of anger. He felt like he was turning into Himuro; all he wanted to do was shield Furihata from Hyuuga, from _any_ prejudice. "You're easily the most beautiful person in this entire school."

Furihata looked down. "I... can we go?"

Seijūrō nodded and followed him to the door.

And for the first time in his life didn't fully understand what had happened. Furihata had stumbled slightly (he was different when he wasn't dancing, halting and hesitative) and Seijūrō caught his arm to steady him just a bit too late, which meant that he fell against Seijūrō's body.

"Sorry, I—" he blushed as he looked up at Seijūrō and the small difference in their heights meant that Seijūrō only had to duck his head to press a kiss to his lips.

It lasted the smallest fraction of a second, just enough to get a small impression of fire and lightning and the shadows it created, but when Seijūrō pulled back Furihata looked as if he'd gotten the full brunt of the force. He seemed to try to say something but gave up and left, swiftly shutting the door behind him.

When Seijūrō had gathered his thoughts and made all attempts to arrange them in a coherent pattern he systematically turned all the lights off and picked up the two jumpers that had been discarded on the floor when they'd first come down.

The entire thing had probably been a mistake. Coming back to Japan had been a giant mistake. If he'd stayed in Paris nothing of this magnitude would have happened.

Furihata was under the covers when Seijūrō got back, obviously pretending to be asleep what with the tension in his shoulders.

"I know you're awake," Seijūrō said. Furihata's shoulders tensed even more but he didn't respond.

Definitely a mistake.

Seijūrō knew that the room was empty before he opened his eyes the next morning. He sat up slowly, keeping his eyes on the seemingly long-empty bed.

Even looking around the dining hall he couldn't find Furihata and he sat at their normal table, tearing pieces off a slice of bread to kid himself that his appetite hadn't disappeared. Although most of their lessons were together, the teachers were strict enough that they weren't allowed to talk in lessons, and Furihata sat on the other side of the room for the majority of them. Walking into his maths class, though, he still tried to catch Furihata's attention.

He almost didn't recognise him at first sight, in fact. He was obviously posing as a girl today, his hair neater than usual and makeup which highlighted what feminine features he had. He was keeping his head resolutely down and the teacher came in before Seijūrō could go to his desk and force him to talk. It felt as if everything was conspiring against him and Furihata.

Well, probably more him. It was obvious that Furihata didn't want anything to do with Seijūrō and just didn't know how to tell him.

The entire school day was spent in the manner of him chasing after Furihata and Furihata chasing after anything else in a desperate bid to lose him. It wasn't until when he went back to their room to change for the ballet lesson that Furihata actually remained in the same room as him by his own choice.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately.

Furihata hunched his shoulders. "No, it's fine."

"Shall we just... forget it ever happened? It was a mistake and obviously I shouldn't have..." He trailed off. There was no need to finish the sentence anyway.

"That's probably for the best," he said despondently.

For the best. As in, he had no feelings for Seijūrō beyond friendship and was trying to let him down gently. Seijūrō nodded. "Of course."

All that was necessary was to back away from him for a while and bide his time, Seijūrō thought. Just for a little while to give Furihata some time to come over to him of his own accord. He'd never been rejected by anyone or anything—Furihata rejecting him was a shock—but he had enough charisma and his father had enough money that no doors had been closed to him before. All he needed was to find where the key to _this_ door was. A door that might actually be worth opening.

"The casting is starting today," Furihata said, slightly more light-heartedly. "I doubt there's any chance I could have Odette, but I suppose I can hope for one of the swan maidens."

Seijūrō couldn't help but soften at his expression, like a battle between hope and what he took as common sense. "Don't limit yourself because of what other people think. We're being assessed for our dancing today, right? So dance as if you want to be Odette."

And he did seem to take his words to heart. Whenever he had enough of a break to look over where the girls were dancing he appeared to be concentrating hard and making his movements even more dynamic and graceful than usual. Even Hyuuga was looking mildly impressed. Seijūrō didn't hear whether Furihata got the part; everyone was told their own role or association with the performance individually before the official announcement the next day. When Riko talked to him, his expression was oddly unreadable. "Right, Akashi," Seijūrō turned to Kiyoshi, and pretty much knew what he was going to say. "We're putting you in as Siegfried."

Seijūrō inclined his head.

"You have played the role before, right?"

"Yes. In Moscow, but it was quite a while ago."

"I'm sure you'll be great."

He seemed rather surprised when Seijūrō said; "Naturally."

The girls finished later than the boys that night, so Seijūrō had already showered and managed to locate a DVD of Swan Lake from the Mariinsky Ballet that he'd been given when he was studying in Moscow by the time he returned.

"So?" he asked immediately.

Furihata gave a wry smile. "Not too bad. Understudy for Odette."

"That's great."

"I'm guessing you're Siegfried?" he continued, still the same smile gracing his features.

"Yes."

"Of course. With all your fancy training."

It wasn't said at all bitterly, so Seijūrō deemed it safe to raise an eyebrow sarcastically.

"It's why I'm putting this on, actually," he said, showing him the DVD case. "I danced the role once before in Moscow but that was a while back."

"Wait for me to put it on," he said. He gathered some clothes and darted into the en suite.

He wasn't entirely sure, by the end of the evening, why Furihata asked him to wait; he took an especially long time in the shower—enough for Seijūrō to look through a couple weeks' worth of chemistry notes and by the _coda_ he had dropped off and somehow in his sleep ended curled up with his head on Seijūrō's shoulder. When the ballet came to a close and the lovers had rejoined in heaven he switched off the TV but remained in relative darkness, unwilling to disturb Furihata.

After a while he stirred and sat up. "Oh, sorry," he said, moving back. "I was more tired than I'd anticipated."

"It's fine."

Furihata watched him for a moment, an air of confusion to him that Seijūrō couldn't comprehend. "G-good night," he stammered, seeming as nervous as he had when Seijūrō had first joined the school. He scrambled off the sofa and into his bed quicker than Seijūrō could respond.

But when Seijūrō woke up the next day he was still there, curled up entirely under the covers so that only a few strands of hair could be seen, apparently still fast asleep. After getting ready himself, he threw a pillow at him to wake him up, at which he whined and pulled the covers down to glare at him.

"It's Wednesday. We have school."

No official practice that evening for his and Furihata's age group meant that there was plenty of time after the school day finished to get all homework done and go to the old servants' quarters to dance alone. Seijūrō had expected Furihata to not go; after the events that had transpired last time they were there together, but he still came, chattering something about practicing the _pas de deux_ together because he remembered it vaguely from a recital when he was younger. "I probably did a simplified version, to be honest, but I was awake for it yesterday on the DVD," he smiled sheepishly and Seijūrō frowned, resisting the urge to point out that Furihata'd had his head on Seijūrō's shoulder at that point.

Being, apparently, a bit of an idiot when he was with Furihata, it escaped his notice until they started dancing the _pas de deux_ that it _was_ a _pas de deux_, and that they were, in fact, dancing as lovers. Every time his hands were on Furihata's waist, or had to be taken off, it was as if the entire world was holding its breath to see what would happen. Seijūrō himself was holding his breath as he refrained from tightening his grip on Furihata to stop him from dancing away.

Furihata stopped partway through to look at him. "You're really amazing."

Seijūrō was shocked for a moment and tried to detect any sarcasm or anger—surely he hadn't guessed what he had been thinking?—before realising that he was probably talking about the dancing. "Ballet has been my entire life for years."

"I know how that feels." The next movement meant Seijūrō had to hold him again and instead of doing a full turn as was choreographed, he stopped when he was facing him and lowered himself from his _pointe_. "I... I never..." He stopped talking and instead reached up to kiss Seijūrō.

It was longer and more experimental than the last time and a pressure in the back of Seijūrō's head that he hadn't even noticed was building was relieved all of a sudden as he felt like he'd just stepped out of the clutches of a nightmare. Even these small, chaste kisses Kōki was giving him were enough to leave him unable to think and make any rational deductions that as good as this felt, it wasn't a good idea, for a reason that... he just couldn't remember.

Kōki looked just as dazed when he pulled back. "I'm sorry, I just—" he broke off when Seijūrō kissed him again quickly.

"Don't apologise," he ordered. Kōki nodded, his eyes closed.

"I couldn't stop thinking about last time," he admitted, biting down on his lip.

"Me neither," Seijūrō said. "Although I suppose this means that Himuro-senpai will probably kill me." Kōki frowned. "He said that I wasn't to touch you under any circumstances," he explained. "I doubt he'll believe me if I said that you molested me."

Any thoughts of his own self-preservation disappeared when Kōki kissed him again, this time a lot less chaste and with wandering hands that trailed fire over Seijūrō's skin.

He woke up the next day with a haze covering any thoughts of the coming day and Kōki in his arms watching him with a small smile, his fingertips tracing along his jaw so softly that he could barely feel it.

"Morning," he said, leaning his forehead against Seijūrō's.

"Shall we miss school today?" Seijūrō said, kissing his cheek. Kōki's head dropped back and he sighed, putting his arms around his neck. It was when he found the spot just under his ear that yesterday had made him tremble and gasp that he gently pushed him away.

"About... you know... I just think we should wait before we do anything physical." He sat up and faced the foot of the bed. "It can get confusing enough when I like someone, and adding _that_ into the mix will probably be a bit much at the moment."

Seijūrō smirked at his evasions. "You can just say 'sex' you know."

Kōki blushed deep red and pushed the covers off his body harshly, muttering something along the lines of 'Not _everyone_ has no shame whatsoever' and 'you're so _westernised_' Seijūrō watched him in amusement as he fumbled with clothes and school things.

"We're not skipping, then?"

"We have a chemistry test today," Kōki chided. He looked at Seijūrō nervously. "You don't... mind, right? What I said?"

"About sex?" Seijūrō said, if only to make Kōki squirm more. "Of course not. All evidence to the contrary," he made a general motion to the bed they'd just shared—it had been his idea, after all, "I wasn't expecting anything more. I'd rather wait, too."

Maybe if he hadn't been so sure of Kōki (and the nervousness that was prompted in his eyes whenever the act was mentioned) he might have been offended by the relief on his face, as if a heavy weight had just been set down.

But then he gave a flirtatious smile, looking at Seijūrō from under his eyelashes. "It'll be that much better when we finally get to it, right?"

Seijūrō froze when he bit his lip and turned to dive into the bathroom.

Maybe this would be harder than he had previously thought.

Being much too distracted with everything that was going on inside his mind, Seijūrō was getting questions wrong for the first time since he'd joined the school. In the end, he remained motionless and silent, and thankfully the teachers let him remain so and chalked it up to nerves due to being cast as Siegfried.

Which was entirely ridiculous, but the easiest explanation; it wasn't as if he could enlighten them to the fact that he was merely sexually frustrated.

Rehearsals started at ballet lessons that evening, and Seijūrō was put into a smaller lesson with only the casted dancers. Although this meant that he was further away from Kōki it was probably the best if he didn't want to start getting jealous of his own understudy for being able to dance with him.

His own lessons ran over by quite a lot, and he was exhausted by Hyuuga and Kiyoshi's instructions on every little movement he made; they really had upped their game when they saw that he knew the movements by heart. Kōki was doing schoolwork when he got in and merely tilted an amused look at him when he let himself fall into the sofa and put his head on his shoulder.

"They're working you hard?" he asked, brushing Seijūrō's hair back with a fond smile.

He nodded and sighed when Kōki's lips pressed against his forehead. Seijūrō pulled back and instead kissed him properly, shivering when Kōki's tongue slipped into his mouth.

The combined happiness of dancing and being with Kōki gave Seijūrō a sense of ease, even if the time that he was in Japan progressed without accomplishing what he'd set out to do.

Or at least until a practice of the _pas de deux_ with Momoi. He'd started dancing normally until, almost super-imposed on her shorter form, he could see Kōki. Momoi was a talented dancer, obviously, but didn't have the almost surreal beauty that Kōki possessed when he danced, which suited the ambience of Swan Lake. He was thinking of that instead of Momoi and the dance when she suddenly cried out in pain. Seijūrō was so startled that he jumped back and she fell to the floor, clutching her ankle. "Akashi!" she said accusatorially. Riko ran up to ascertain the injury.

"I... what happened?" Seijūrō said.

"You weren't supporting me enough!" she said, wincing when Riko felt her ankle.

"It's not broken."

"It really hurts, though."

When the doctor arrived, it was certain. Momoi had pulled a muscle and damaged a ligament, and if she wanted to recover properly she would have to be pulled out of the performance. Seijūrō apologised profusely before she finally let him go and made his way upstairs to his room, where Kōki was frowning at his phone.

He put his head to one side when he saw Seijūrō before saying; "What's going on? I just got a call from Riko saying that I've been cast as Odette. What about Momoi-san?"

"I didn't mean to do it."

"Do what?"

He tugged on the back of his hair. "Injure her. I was just thinking about how I'd rather dance with you and I wasn't really supporting her as I should have."

Kōki froze, looked down at the phone again, looked at Seijūrō. "You have got to be kidding." He blanched when Seijūrō pulled a face. "Oh." He slowly went to his bedside table to place the phone down on it. "H-how's Momoi-san?"

"She'll be fine."

"Oh, th-that's good," he stuttered, and jumped when Seijūrō came up behind him to put his arms around his waist.

"You're not scared of me now, are you?"

"You didn't… _mean_ to hurt her. Right?"

"Not consciously. But I wanted to dance with you anyway."

He gave a slightly exasperated sigh when Seijūrō kissed his neck and made a nonchalant gesture. "Fine," he said, though he was starting to smile. "Fine," he repeated.

Although dancing with him made Seijūrō very aware of Koki's body, he knew how he moved and how to compensate for any flaws, until Riko was watching them dance with her eyes bright, pressing her hand to her mouth. "_Beautiful_," she would say after they finished. "You two are perfect together."

Seijūrō certainly agreed, and from Kōki's shy smile as he inclined his head and sank slightly into Seijūrō's side, he also believed it.

As was a necessitated part of his life, though, difficulty arose when—having completely forgotten that Himuro was due the Monday after—he and Kōki were both in his bed, Kōki fast asleep and Seijūrō half asleep, his arms tight around Kōki's waist.

"What the _fuck_," Himuro said loudly. Seijūrō sat up quickly and Kōki jumped before frowning at Himuro. "What the fuck, Akashi? I told you to stay away from him!"

"No, Tatsuya, it's fine," Kōki said in a placating way, holding his hands up. "I instigated it." He took Seijūrō's hand to stop him from getting up. "And we haven't done anything anyway."

He gave them both an incredulous look and crossed his arms.

"Uh..." Kōki shot a wide-eyed glance to Seijūrō, who was meeting Himuro's glare. "I got cast as Odette!" he announced loudly when the silence dragged on a little long.

Himuro's glare softened. "You did? I thought Momoi-san was Odette?"

"There was a bit of an accident. She can't dance for the next few weeks."

At which Himuro frowned at Seijūrō. "And I'm guessing you're Siegfried?"

Half to annoy him and half because he _could_, he nodded and pulled Kōki closer to wrap his arms around him.

"How are you doing with schoolwork?" Himuro asked, still glaring at Seijūrō.

"I need some help with maths," Kōki answered, slipping out of Seijūrō's arms and gathering some maths books.

Himuro nodded before saying to Seijūrō; "Can you let me talk to him?"

Oh, the _insolence_. Thinking that just because they'd been friends for however long he could decide who was good for him. Rage burned him and before he left he pulled Kōki into a not-all-that-innocent kiss, tangling his hands into Kōki's hair and feeling a sense of triumph when Kōki gasped.

He looked rather dazed when Seijūrō pulled away and left the room.

Seijūrō expected it, so when Himuro came up to him and warned him again, he had made sure that he had his temper well in hand and explained calmly that he had no intention whatsoever of ever hurting Kōki. After all, even if he was starting to hate the sight of the man, he was still an important part of Kōki's life.

For this reason he also tried not to be angry with him when he joined Kōki for a bit of extra practice, but apparently didn't do a good job of hiding it. "Don't be angry with him," Kōki said.

Seijūrō stopped dancing. "It just annoys me that he acts as if anyone else will want to do nothing but hurt you."

Kōki shifted uncomfortably. "It's just that..." he trailed off and bit his lip. "Well, people tend not to accept me all that easily and it turns ugly sometimes. He's seen me in a lot of bad places."

He looked despondent and tightened a hand around his wrist. Seijūrō joined him to pull him into his arms. "You trust me though, right?"

"Yeah," Kōki said softly.

If it had been anyone else, Seijūrō would have been angered (not scared, never scared) that he was so bothered by what one person thought of him. He needed Kōki's trust on such substantial proportions to even be _happy_ now. And he was starting to think that this _wasn't_ so much of a weakness as he had previously believed.

It was several weeks later, soon before the performance, that Seijūrō forced himself to try again with what he'd come to Japan to achieve, and booked a train to Kyoto. He told Kōki he was going out for the day and quickly kissed him before leaving.

His destination was a mass on the horizon long before he reached it and his heart perceptively sank, so much so that he considered turning back.

He arrived at the gate and pressed the button on the intercom, waiting for the gate to swing open and walked slowly down the decline of the driveway as the manor mocked his indecision. This didn't feel like home whatsoever. When he thought of _home_ he saw a small room with three single beds and pale walls, and Kōki greeting him as soon as he walked in.

He reached the wooden porch, and his father walked out of the house. "Seijūrō, I can't talk for long."

Seijūrō crossed his arms and looked at him accusatorially. "You said you had the entire day free." He stayed where he was even as his father tried to usher him in. "That's why I came down today and missed practice."

"There's an issue with some numbers—don't just stand there, Seijūrō—so I need to go in. But we can talk for half-an-hour."

"I've seen you nothing more than a week in the past six years."

His father paused and his expression turned severe. Seijūrō shivered and thanked whoever was listening that he took more after his mother instead of his father. "I can't help it, Seijūrō. You can stay here as long as you want." Once he'd finally managed to usher Seijūrō in, ordered the maid to fetch them some tea and sitting them both down in the front room he finally gave a short-lived smile to his son. "I am glad you came, though. I wanted to talk to you about an interesting proposition."

Seijūrō crossed his legs and leant back. "Is that so?"

"I got a call from the New York City Ballet a couple of days ago and wanted to tell you personally. They want you to join them. They even offered full funding, though obviously it's not required." He accepted the tea when it came and handed a mug to Seijūrō. "And as well as being a very prestigious school, it means you can start looking at positions in the American branch of the company."

Seijūrō got colder and colder as his father continued.

"So I've said that we're interested. You're leaving in a month."

"I..." Seijūrō couldn't say anything. After all that, he'd just have to leave? Granted, what he'd set out to do when he left France—be closer to his father—had been a bust from the beginning, but he'd grown not to care about that. He cared about Japan, though. He cared about Kōki. "How could you accept something like that without consulting me?"

"What are you talking about? It's been the plan since you were born to take over the American branch by the time you're twenty-one; it's the smallest branch and you're already fluent in English."

"That doesn't matter."

"That doesn't...?" The anger in his gaze was enough to make Seijūrō flinch and he bowed his head respectfully. All it did was remind him of his own cruel streak inherited from his father. "I've paid for your ballet using what I get from the company. Without the company you would be nothing more than a commoner's son."

The reminder wasn't what he wanted. In a strange way, what was taking him away from Kōki had also brought him to Kōki.

"So you'll do as I say and fulfil your duty as my son." His phone vibrated and he checked it, swore, and continued with; "It's more severe than I thought. I'll have to leave now." He got up, straightened his tie, and picked up a briefcase. "Stay as long as you like." The phone vibrated again and he answered it to bark orders. Seijūrō felt like he was looking into a mirror of his future and wisps of darkness curled around his ankles and encroached his peripheral vision.

"It's been a while, Seijūrō-sama," the maid said.

The illusion disappeared and Seijūrō blinked. "Oh. Yes, it has."

She collected up the mugs and smiled in encouragement. "Would you like some more tea?"

"No, thank you." He stood up. "I'll be leaving now."

She nodded. "A car can take you to the station."

Seijūrō accepted blindly and furiously fought back tears the entire way home.

Except for a moment to compose himself fully outside the door, he got home as quickly as possible (musing that he and his father had barely spent fifteen minutes together) and when he opened it Himuro was nowhere to be found and Kōki was fast asleep on Seijūrō's bed. He woke up when Seijūrō brushed his hair back and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "You're back quickly."

"It took less time than I thought it would." He considered telling Kōki what had transpired, but couldn't bring himself to. He could barely bring himself to articulate it in his own head.

Kōki bit his lip and watched him for a moment. "Tatsuya will be back tomorrow in the early afternoon," he said.

"He's been away a lot recently," Seijūrō said, moving to the desk to work out what homework he should be doing.

"I asked him whether he could."

"Oh?" He picked up a history book and flipped through it. Kōki sighed and joined him before tugging the book from his hands.

"Sei," he said insistently. "I asked him to leave us alone for the night."

Seijūrō blinked as it caught up to him. "Oh," he repeated. "Are you sure?"

"_Yes_," he insisted. Seijūrō pushed the day and looming loss of everything he cared for to the back of his mind and kissed him.

Kōki tended to wake up earlier than Seijūrō, so when he woke up and Kōki was still asleep he savoured it to memorise every line of his face and remember every movement he'd made the night before. Kōki's eyes fluttered open when he was remembering the end and he sighed and shifted closer. "We'll have to do that again," he said, with a small smile. "Although..." The smile turned into more of a smirk. "I never thought you were the type to cry."

"Kōki—"

"I mean, I could see myself reacting like that, but you always seem so calm and collected."

"Kōki—"

"Even when you dance. Most ballet dancers are told to smile but you always seem remote and inaccessible." He ignored Seijūrō as he took a firm hold of his hip. "And yet you—" He broke off when Seijūrō covered his mouth with his hand.

"One more word, Kōki," he threatened.

Kōki's eyes flashed. "Cried," he said triumphantly, laughing as Seijūrō flipped him over.

Himuro had gotten to the point that he accepted their relationship for what it was once he realised there was nothing he could do about it. Kōki had made his decision, and though Himuro believed it was the wrong decision (and Seijūrō, in fact, agreed wholeheartedly), he would see it through.

And if it wasn't for the date of the move looming, everything would have been in place.

He tried to tell Kōki, multiple times, but every time the words stuck in his throat and Kōki would put his head to one side with a quizzical smile before leaning forwards to kiss him.

And when Kōki was with him like that, it felt like the world would stop before they separated.

In almost a casual way, he found out that everything would disintegrate around him with flames and lightning would shake his foundations. He was doing work in his room with Himuro, who tilted a sardonic look at him (he ignored it to begin with; it happened often) and said; "Riko said you won't be with us for long."

"I'm sorry?" Seijūrō said, startled.

"You're off to New York?"

Seijūrō pushed his work away from him. "Himuro-senpai—"

"Does Kōki know?"

He didn't answer, but his guilt must have been plain.

"You're worse than I thought," Himuro said. "If you weren't going to stay then why did you get his hopes up?"

Seijūrō tried to glare at him, but he was right after all.

"I told him that you were bad news."

"Himuro-senpai..."

"Only he didn't listen to me because you blinded him."

"I didn't—"

"Listen, Akashi." Seijūrō watched him silently. "You have no idea what he's been through."

And there was that insolence again, thinking that he could dictate Kōki's decisions. Seijūrō stood up. "I'll tell him. But it's difficult for me as well."

Seijūrō didn't need a translation of Himuro's expression there. He didn't care about Seijūrō's difficulties in the slightest. With a weight pressing down on him, he left the room.

Kōki was in the library with a thick maths textbook and sighed when he saw Seijūrō coming up to his desk. "Can we please go practice? I'm sick of _this_." The disgust in his voice was obvious and Seijūrō smiled fondly, dropping a kiss onto the top of his head.

"We need to talk anyway." He pressed his thumbs into the muscles of Kōki's neck and worked some knots out.

"Hmm. Okay," he answered. "I think maths is bad for my health."

Right now, with Kōki softening under his hands and sighing every time he pressed a kiss onto warm skin, he could see what _could_ be their future. "We really need to talk," he said, trying to block out the visions of a small house in the countryside with a garden which had climbing flowers and a life which was actually worth living. How could he have known that a simple life was all he wanted for?

Kōki's eyes were hooded when he looked at Seijūrō and he got up, stretching his arms and whining softly. "Do you want to go then?"

Seijūrō stopped them halfway between the main and school buildings. Kōki looked at him with his head slightly to one side.

"It's..." Seijūrō broke off and Kōki stepped forward.

"Sei?" he said questioningly.

"I'm moving to New York."

Kōki blinked and Seijūrō kept his eyes resolutely on the undergrowth around them. "You're moving where?"

"I got an offer from the New York City Ballet."

Kōki shook his head and pushed his fringe to the side. "What... how? When did you hear about this?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

"A couple of... Sei!"

Seijūrō crossed his arms. "I never stay anywhere for long. And I came here to be closer to my father but..." he rubbed the nape of his neck agitatedly. "He's too busy to see me anyway."

He finally looked at Kōki and a spear drove him to the ground. He was barely able to keep to his feet, unable to move and unable to breathe. Never had he thought that Kōki would have this expression of utter helplessness-never had he thought _he_ would be the one to put it there. He was telling the truth when he promised Himuro that he would never hurt Kōki, and he felt now as if a promise made to he himself had been broken.

Kōki was pale white, his bottom lip trembling even as he bit it, and he shook his head. "You're leaving? Just like that?"

_Just like that_. The words were mocking him, singing around his head and also dark and tendril-like, creeping up his leg, almost to his shin—_just like that_—to his knee now and obscuring his vision of what little light was filtering through the trees from the full moon.

_Just like that. _Hadn't that been what it was like every other time?

"Forgive me."

Kōki's voice was so harsh and silvery that Seijūrō was shocked and his entire body seemed to throb as the tendrils tightened themselves around him. "Kōki," he said uncertainly.

Kōki looked down at his hands and rubbed his wrists. "I thought that you had something worth staying for."

"I..." _I do_, that was what he wanted to say. Why couldn't he just _say_ it? "In five years I'll be taking over the American branch of my father's company. I don't have a choice."

"I see," he said slowly. "Well, that's probably for the best, then. It wouldn't have worked out anyway." It was said so nonchalantly that Seijūrō was startled. That _couldn't_ be what he really believed.

Could it?

Kōki walked away then, his ears burning even as his face was pale and set. Seijūrō watched him walk back to the main path.

The last cut: he fell to the ground and curled his legs up to hide his face from the faeries laughing at him. Everything elemental and natural was pushing him and Kōki away from each other. Now even Kōki was pushing himself away from Seijūrō.

He stayed until rain started working its way through the leaves and dropped ice onto the nape of his neck.

Riko seemed furious, and, to be fair, Seijūrō didn't blame her. Kōki hardly looked at him, and his own movements were... he wouldn't say _uncoordinated_, but reserved and halted. She stepped up to them, dragging a scowling Hyuuga with her and made an exasperated noise.

"What _happened_ to you two? You're supposed to be in love, but you're dancing more like _Rothbart_ and Odette than Siegfried and Odette."

Kōki made an odd jerk at the work 'love' but lowered his head and muttered an apology.

She softened. "I suppose I have been working you hard recently." Rubbing her eyebrows with a sigh, she waved her hand. "Ne, ne. Go relax. We'll have another run through tomorrow morning."

Kōki bolted before she'd even finished and Seijūrō felt like cold hands were inching up his spine.

"You're not ruining this for me, Akashi," Hyuuga said. "Find out what it is that's bothering him and sort it out. The performance is in two days and you are not fucking this up."

Seijūrō nodded and felt weary as he made his way upstairs to see Kōki almost furiously putting clothes away.

"Kōki."

He slammed a drawer shut. "What?" he snapped.

Seijūrō closed his eyes. "Whatever is happening with us, we can't let it jeopardise the performance."

"I wasn't planning to let it. I'm a professional."

He crossed his arms as Seijūrō winced. "Fine. Can we practice together then?"

Kōki snorted. "No."

Seijūrō huffed and Kōki left the room.

And, in fact, it wasn't until an hour before the performance that Kōki actually looked at him again. He was looking beautiful in his outfit, with his hair slightly curled and the fringe pushed to the side as when it usually was when he was posing as a girl. He blushed slightly when Seijūrō couldn't help but run his eyes over his slender body, barely hidden by the fabric.

"Don't," he said in a low voice, edging back slightly.

He managed to refrain himself from saying that he was memorising everything about him, his slender neck and delicate hips and the way he had of wrinkling his nose when he was angry.

"You don't have the right anymore." His shoulders hunched and Seijūrō longed to kiss the skin over his collarbone.

"I know," he breathed. Kōki shivered and stretched his leg behind him, keeping his eyes closed.

"How are you two feeling?" Riko had bustled in, almost dropping various clipboards due to her shaking nerves. Seijūrō took them from her arms. "Ah, thank you..."

"Don't worry about anything."

"I'm perfectly fine," Kōki added curtly.

Riko frowned at him and darted forwards to fix his hair. "You sure? You look like you're shaking."

"You're the one shaking, Riko."

She gave a nervous laugh and smiled fondly at the two of them. "I suppose I am. I'll go check on my Rothbart and the swans." She took the clipboards back and watched them for a few seconds longer before shaking herself and scurrying down the corridor to the other dressing rooms.

Kōki was sitting at one of the tables and glaring at his reflection in one of the mirrors.

"You'll get cold," Seijūrō scolded softly, dropping a jumper over his shoulders. He considered it a promising victory when he didn't throw it off immediately and instead pulled it tighter around his body.

"When are you leaving?"

Seijūrō shifted before lifting himself to sit on the other table. He was facing Kōki's back, watching his breathing as it gently moved his shoulders and the way his fingers were tracing shapes on the table in the same way they had traced shapes on his skin. "Tomorrow morning."

The movement stopped for a moment, the hand stilled, and brown eyes met Seijūrō's in the mirror. "You're not finishing the performances?"

Seijūrō shook his head. "My father made the arrangements without consulting me. Kise," his understudy, "will be taking over."

"So..." He didn't finish, but Seijūrō knew what he was thinking.

"This is the last time we'll dance together."

The finger returned to tracing the table. "Kise is very good," he said, almost blankly. His eyes were just as blank as he observed his hand moving as if it belonged to someone else.

Seijūrō knew very well that Kise was talented-though obviously not as much as him—and the thought of Kōki dancing with him, acting as _lovers_ with him, was enough to cause something ugly to rise up within him.

He wasn't deluded, he knew he had faults, and one of them was an inherent propensity to jealousy. But never had he wanted so much to hurt someone, to stop anyone who would even think of touching something that he still felt was _his_.

This was all so fucked up.

Kōki frowned at him when he dropped his head into his hands and joined him at the other side of the room, standing in front of him and watching him with an uncertainty that Seijūrō hated. "You'll be fine," he said, not entirely comfortingly (in fact, it sounded more disdainful than anything else), but he still pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. Seijūrō squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to make the moment last, but it refused to, and danced out of sight with a mocking echo of Kōki's light-heartedness.

Kōki sprang back when there was a thud at the door and Kiyoshi walked in with a bright smile. "Ready, kids?" he chirped. Kōki bit back a smile at Seijūrō's expression (being called a _child_ when it was Kiyoshi who was the man-child; naturally it would offend Seijūrō), and nodded. "Go start warming up, then."

The warmth at the bottom of his stomach—the closest Seijūrō came to feeling nervous—was familiar and almost comforting in this familiarity. The atmosphere made everyone more jittery than normal, but Seijūrō was almost eerily calm as they started. Kōki squeezed his hand tightly just before they started, and though his entire body jolted at the unexpected contact, he could feel it relaxing him even more. He was sinking into the ground, roots covering vast areas of space and anchoring his balance.

But whenever he and Kōki would dance, the friction between them was overwhelming and set fire to the air between their bodies. Kōki felt it too; Seijūrō could tell, and his yearning to get back to Seijūrō was as strong as Odette's was to be with Siegfried. The _pas de deux_ was breath-taking, even for Seijūrō and the audience was enraptured by the simple beauty of the dance and Kōki's movements, shy to begin with but getting bolder and stronger, adopting that freedom of style and expression that Seijūrō adored.

The times their eyes met, the fire which they were still not accustomed to—would never be accustomed to now, what with his departure—shot from one body to the other. When Kōki separated from him, parts of Seijūrō were still with him. He was memorising each movement, the feel of Kōki's delicate hips beneath his hands and taking any excuse to catch a part of his bare skin.

And every time von Rothbart took Odette away from Siegfried, Seijūrō didn't have to act his anger. The thought of anyone else touching Kōki was enough to almost blind him.

The final dance was thus charged with electricity which could only be identified by the two and left the other performers wondering. Kōki shot nervous glances at Seijūrō as if he knew what was coming, but didn't know whether he wanted it or not. The performance was received with due applause and Kōki kept hold of Seijūrō's hand as more than just a formality; his grip lasted even when Riko hugged him and Himuro ruffled his hair. They were both ushered into the dressing room by Kiyoshi-sensei, telling them that they did a great job and should rest a bit, and the thud of the door accompanied by the immediate muffling of noise from the commotion outside gave Seijūrō the disorienting feeling of having been suddenly awoken from an obscure dream full of vivid colours.

"How... how are you feeling?"

Kōki looked as if he had the same sensation, and from his wariness in asking Seijūrō couldn't really tell him that his primary feeling was excitement.

"Fine," he said, catching Kōki's wrist and watching as he shivered and closed his eyes.

This closeness to another person could be odd sometimes. It was natural and a heady bliss that settled in a blanket and enveloped them, pushing them deeper into water at the same time as prompting little sparks of emotion that elevated them, sometimes harshly, sometimes in an ebb and flow that reminded Seijūrō of a rocking chair. He remembered all this, drawing Kōki close and waiting for him to close his eyes first, the hesitation just as their lips touched because the warmth was always like coming home, the almost imperceptible drop of Kōki's shoulders as if he'd let go of a pretence, warmth and strength and love that Seijūrō knew he didn't deserve but stupidly accepted anyway.

"This is going to be a mistake," Kōki whispered, his breath warm against Seijūrō's mouth.

Seijūrō just kissed him softly again, slowly building up the intensity until Kōki was disoriented, finding the bolt on the door with difficulty and sliding it into place. "Fine," he breathed. "But after this I don't ever want to see you again."

He'd be lying if he said that didn't hurt. He was lying when he didn't say that the words struck fear into his soul and twisted his heart and he hid his face in Kōki's hair to compose himself. "You've said your piece," he said when he trusted his composure. Kōki's eyes were dark as he pulled away. "I'll say mine. You can control whether I see you or not, but you don't have any say on my feelings. I'm in love with you, Kōki. That's not going to change."

Kōki's face twisted slightly—twisted in pain—and he wordlessly pulled Seijūrō back.

Seijūrō, when he looked back on the moment, would see it as a beautiful mistake. In a strange way, it was almost a pity people didn't see Kōki like this, mesmerising grace and beauty, flushed cheeks and lips reddened and parted; even when he danced it couldn't hold a candle to how he was now. He'd put his hair back into its normal fringe and when he hovered over Seijūrō's body it tickled his forehead. The way they moved was a ballet, the way he would reach back and try to dig his fingers into the wall was poetry, the shape his body made when it arched was music. Every time Seijūrō tried to speak he would silence him, pressing his fingers against his lips, kissing him, moving in a way that made Seijūrō forget everything and unable to articulate the declarations of love that were running through his head.

They spent a few moments afterwards catching their breath, Kōki with his eyes closed and Seijūrō watching him.

He pushed Seijūrō off his body, then, gathering the outfit. "Help me put it back on," he said, the first time he'd spoken since Seijūrō's declaration. Seijūrō took his time, brushing his fingers lightly over the softest skin which was still heated, and when Kōki didn't protest pressed small kisses the length of his neck. He watched Kōki's face in the mirror as he did so, watched as his skin darkened and his eyes fluttered shut and his brow furrowed. He was biting a trembling bottom lip almost hard enough to break the skin. "We can't stay here too long," he warned in a low voice and Seijūrō sighed against his skin, separating to dress quickly.

"You two were wonderful!" Riko almost sang, hurrying up the corridor when they came out and throwing her arms around the two of them. "Keep it up, Kōki," she said, pinching his cheek affectionately. "And Akashi, I'm so glad you came. You were wonderful as Siegfried." She patted his shoulder and Seijūrō smiled.

Kōki didn't look at him the rest of the night, even as Seijūrō sleeplessly watched his slow breathing and ran the evening's occurrences through his mind.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because then Himuro was shaking him awake and hissing that it was eight in the morning and he should probably be getting ready. "Kōki is still asleep, so keep quiet."

It was the first time, getting ready to leave somewhere, that he had felt as if he was leaving his home and truly regretted it. Himuro offered to walk with him to the station and kept on shooting nervous glances at Kōki, who was thrumming with tension and obviously awake even if he was pretending not to be so. He gave an almost imperceptible gasp when Seijūrō kissed the side of his head (ignoring Himuro's disapproving huff) and left the room, a last glance revealing that Kōki's eyes were squeezed tightly shut and tears hung on his lashes.

"You know..." Himuro looked up at the sky when they'd left the building long behind and narrowed his eyes. "Even if I knew you would always let him down, in the end, I did hope that you wouldn't."

Seijūrō felt his lips pull back slightly from his teeth in a feral way. "I don't have a choice, Himuro-senpai. I was only born because the company needed an heir anyway."

"There's always a choice, Akashi."

"My father could always cut me off completely." Akashi watched as a bird sang and took off as they approached. It wheeled in a blue sky, and in a disjointed way Seijūrō wondered why it was a swan that Odette and the maidens were turned into when there were so many other birds more graceful. "Either way, I couldn't remain here."

Himuro was thoughtful. "The thing is… I've seen him in a lot of bad situations. And even through all the abuse and the bullying he kept himself upright, but every now and then I could see the cracks and what was revealed by those cracks terrified me." He sighed and looked sideways at Seijūrō. "His own mother couldn't accept him, you know. She left a while after he came out. His father was the one who stood by him and on the surface just having me and his father seemed like enough. But those cracks..." He trailed off and Seijūrō watched with his heart pounding hard enough to shake a mountain. "You made them disappear. However fleetingly."

"He's stronger than you give him credit for."

"I believe he's incredibly strong, Akashi." When Seijūrō scoffed his face set. "He didn't have much of a childhood so I take on everything I can, yes. But the situations he's been in... I've seen him beaten up countless times and abused verbally when people don't understand him. I was there when his mother rejected him and left his father for wanting to support him." When he looked at Seijūrō then haunting memories had etched another twenty years on his face. "I've seen him lying in a pool of his own blood by his own doing. And he's recovered from that. He's moved on and become someone extraordinary, and more than anything, someone kind. You may love him and know him in ways that I don't, but I've seen what has made him who he is today. And all of that only makes me realise how strong he is." Having been carrying one of Seijūrō's bags, he handed it to him and turned. "But don't think that it doesn't mean I'll protect him whenever possible. He's like my brother, and he bloody well deserves someone who will risk everything to stay with him."

Mornings in New York were a mixture of exasperation at the unending noise and gentle fondness at the almost childishness of the city and its blocks laid out like Lego with Central Park a carpet in the middle. Seijūrō had settled into a routine fairly quickly, and went for a run to Central Park—about twenty minutes jog away—before walking back and stretching his shoulders out. When he got home, it was a shower and breakfast, going through some numbers for the company and going to class at nine. Coming home, gathering his clothes for his ballet tuition and getting at the studio at precisely three in the afternoon for his lesson, coming home and doing some revision. The next day, exactly the same.

It was almost unbearably monotonous. He hadn't realised just how exciting it was to be with Kōki and see his passion as he danced and whenever they were together.

And to begin with, he didn't realise that anything was wrong because everything was always the same and it crept up on him slowly. It was when he'd been in New York for slightly over three months that he felt the twinge on a Wednesday's practice and stopped dancing, wincing as he lowered himself from a _demi-pointe_.

"You're not done yet, Seijūrō," the instructor said, clapping her hands together as if she was trying to deter a cat from entering her home.

"Of course. I'm sorry," he said. He experimentally went into the third position, putting a bit more weight on his right leg and pushed it to the back of his mind when it didn't hurt again.

A week later, the pain came back and was enough to make him stop dancing again. This time it lasted, though, a throbbing which was sometimes accentuated by a sharp spark. The morning after his right ankle and knee was stiff, so much so that he couldn't go for his usual run and as a result was feeling a lot more jittery.

"Just go to a doctor," one of his teachers said when he mentioned the pain. "It could be a stress fracture." Seijūrō grimaced at that. Going to a doctor was almost a weakness, but nevertheless he made an appointment that evening for the next day.

And stared at his phone for a long time after. Japan was a few hours behind America and Kōki would most likely be dancing right now. He could remember it all so perfectly; the freeness and fluidity that he'd never really seen everywhere else. It was very possible for him to call.

Since when had he become so dependant and weak?

Though many people said that waiting was the hardest part, Seijūrō called bullshit on that. Waiting was the most bloody boring part. He'd woken up feeling perfectly fine, nothing more than a slight pain when he made a certain movement—which had been going on for years without any bad effects anyway. Finally he was called in and Seijūrō quickly described the situation. The doctor, a surprisingly young-looking Latino, checked his leg, humming all the time in a way that quickly got on Seijūrō's nerves and referred him to get an x-Ray.

This entire situation was a pain. At this rate he would miss today's practice and wouldn't be able to finish his report for his English class. Just as he was considering making a run for it, the doctor came back with a clipboard in hand and ushered him into a seat. "You do have a stress-fracture," she started. Seijūrō sighed, half in annoyance and half in relief.

"So I can—"

"Woah, not so quick. There are some other issues here too. Your ligaments are in pretty bad shape too. Although your bones are enough to be a concern."

"How can—"

"How long have you been doing ballet for?"

Seijūrō huffed. "Since I was three."

"And I'm guessing several hours every day?"

"I have to." He couldn't wait to get out of this place. If she hurried, he could probably catch the last hour of practice and no one would mind if he stayed an hour extra to practice by himself.

"Well now you're going to have to take a break. A pretty long one if you don't want to break down."

Seijūrō frowned and an image of the route to the studios froze in his head. "What do you mean?"

"The thing is practicing something like ballet so much puts a great amount of stress on bones. You already have a lot of scar tissue from other stress fractures and your bones aren't even fully developed yet. Furthermore…"

Seijūrō's head was hurting with building stress as she continued her explanation. It was strange, to suddenly realise that security was a mirage, nothing more than a blanket which would be ripped off, leaving its former owner naked and shivering, at the mercy of... what? Fate? Self-inflicted disaster? He wanted to dance, he _needed_ to lose this feeling in dance.

"I would recommend full rest for a month, and actually..." Her expression changed then, to one of pity. "I would consider quitting ballet altogether. The thing is, from this repeated stress, and the fact that your bones are weaker than they should be at your age, it won't be good for you."

Seijūrō almost laughed at the proposition. So now he was supposed to choose between his mental health and his physical health? Both were dead-ends anyway, right?

He needed Kōki.

The thought tore through him and he agitatedly tugged on his sleeve. He couldn't stay here in this country any longer, not when the entire continent and a sea separated them. He called his father that night and explained the situation (well, as much as he _could_ explain).

"You're leaving America because you can't do ballet anymore?" His father's voice was incredulous. "Isn't that a reason to stay? I'm sorry about the diagnosis, Seijūrō, but that means you can be more serious with the company."

The moment of truth, then, to see whether he could withstand his father's wrath. "There's nothing keeping me here, father. I have friends in Japan."

"Duty is more important, Seijūrō. I hope being brought up in Europe didn't make you lose sight of that."

Seijūrō paused in his packing. "That was your decision. So what if it did?"

"You are my son, Seijūrō. You will stay in New York and eventually become head of the company."

"I'm not your puppet, father."

"Sei—!" His voice was cut off as Seijūrō disconnected and threw the phone on his bed. It buzzed angrily almost immediately, and continued to do so sporadically for a large part of the evening.

His need to see Kōki, or even just hear his voice was building, but just as he picked up his phone (where it finally lay silent as a rock) all he could remember was Kōki's wish to never see him again. Surely something like this would be an exception? This would be the furthest thing from a clean break, after all.

When the voice on the other side answered it was definitely surprised, as well as rather accusatory. Seijūrō took a deep breath before explaining the situation.

Japan hadn't changed whatsoever in the months he had been gone and this constancy was comforting to Seijūrō. He sat in the café that he'd suggested they meet, narrowing his eyes at the dull pain which was starting to be all he felt.

The chair in front of him scraped on the floor as it was pulled back and Seijūrō looked up. "Himuro-senpai," he said politely.

Himuro didn't play along with the politeness game, just sat down and crossed his arms. "So what's going on?"

Seijūrō looked at the table. "I haven't quite decided yet. That's why I didn't call Kōki."

Himuro nodded. "That's probably for the best."

The stab of pain had nothing to do with his leg, but he still stretched it out. "But the situation, at least..." Seijūrō sighed. "I can't really dance anymore, and most likely if I start again the problems will keep piling on."

When he looked again, Himuro had some kind of grudging pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry." Although this was entirely the opposite of what he wanted, some long-buried instinct told him to accept the pity. "So what are you doing in Japan? Wouldn't that mean that you could focus on whatever your father wanted you to do?"

"If I can't dance there's nothing keeping me in America." He looked at Himuro steadily. "I was hoping that you would talk to Kōki for me."

His distaste was obvious, but he still seemed to assent. "I suppose that might be for the best." The silence that settled wasn't awkward, but Seijūrō still felt uncomfortable. "The thing is…" Himuro frowned thoughtfully. "You know, maybe it would actually be better if you talked to him yourself."

Seijūrō almost choked on his tea at that. "I'm sorry?"

"When I came back after you left he was sleeping in your bed. And he… hasn't been the same since."

Seijūrō squashed down any hope that threatened to rise. Strange, he thought it had all died out. "He told me that he never wanted to see me again."

Hope really was a powerful thing.

"I know." Himuro sat back. "But he says things without thinking sometimes. He was angry. How about I mention it to him? We'll see how it goes from then on."

Seijūrō was still reeling from the sheer shock when Himuro left.

He stayed in a hotel for the next week, hoping and dreading the arrival of the next days. He carefully avoided any attempts at contact from his father and… did normal things. He found a job, even, at a shop and looked around for possible apartments he could rent and a school he could join after the holidays were over. He felt like he was settling, and even if he never saw Kōki again he could function and build up a life for _himself_.

Even if his inability to dance was a massive hole.

It was at work, in fact, when he was putting some clothes on racks, that a painfully familiar voice said; "Can we talk?" behind him.

He was almost too shocked to turn, and when he finally did Kōki was standing there. The way he whispered his name caused a deep blush to come over his cheeks until a flash of anger came into his eyes, and Seijūrō was reminded of Kōki's order that they never see each other again.

"Well, can we?" Kōki said. Seijūrō realised he hadn't answered his question.

"I'm off in a couple of hours," he answered. Kōki nodded and looked down, fiddling with the front of his jumper the way he did when he was feeling nervous and Seijūrō tried particularly hard not to pounce on him. He didn't even know what he would do after that. Just hug him? Kiss him, maybe? Drag him to the quietest part of the shop and—? He broke that thought off before it had any physical effects.

"I'll be waiting in the café across the road, then." He gave Seijūrō a nervous look and turned to leave.

Time passed, and before long Seijūrō was hurrying the other side of the road where Kōki was sitting at the window, hunched over and seemingly on his third cup of coffee. He signalled for another one as Seijūrō came in.

In that he didn't know why Kōki was here, Seijūrō didn't entirely know what to say. Kōki was taking his time too, apparently having reverted back into the nervous wreck he had been when they first met, though this time Seijūrō understood why. He was inexplicably nervous too; only able to think about the last time they were together and how it had ended.

"Tatsuya informed me about the situation."

His formal tone surprised Seijūrō, certainly, but not as much as the pain that flashed in his eyes. "Yes?" he said.

"A-and you can't dance anymore?" The slip didn't seem deliberate; he flinched and blushed.

It wasn't made any easier when Kōki said it, and only reminded him of the throbbing in his leg which had only gotten worse since he'd stopped dancing. "No."

He hated the pity in Kōki's eyes more than he had in Himuro's. Kōki shouldn't have this expression. It didn't fit with Seijūrō's memories of the love in his eyes before; he didn't want _this_ to replace it in his memory. "And what are you doing now?"

Seijūrō couldn't answer for a while. "I don't really know."

"I could… I mean _you_ could talk to Riko. I don't know how to help you, really." He bit down on his lip when Seijūrō didn't answer him. "She'll know what to do," he continued, an almost rebellious tone to his voice. Seijūrō had the distinct impression that he was thinking something along the lines of '_she'll know what to do to deal with you'._

This wasn't right. This wasn't how things were supposed to end. Seijūrō couldn't help thinking that Kōki should have stayed away and left their final memory together untarnished.

"Fine," he said, standing up. "I'll go talk to her."

He was expecting it anyway, so it didn't really hurt too much when he shrugged and stayed in his seat.

Getting back that evening after his talk with Riko was exhausting, and the elevator being out-of-order meant he had to climb several flights of stairs to his room, and his leg was starting to throb with an intensity which stunned him. He almost fell onto his bed and tried to relieve it by stretching his leg out, but that only made the skin feel tight and hot around the pain.

How was this even _possible_? The entire time he'd been dancing, hours upon hours of practice and countless other exercises, the only pains he'd ever had were slight twinges. But once he stopped dancing it was all he could feel and layers upon layers were on him. Dancing couldn't have had _that_ much of a euphoric effect; it was nonsensical.

Hopefully tomorrow would help, once he got back to what he still thought as home.

It had subsided some the next morning, enough to carry his things downstairs where Riko was waiting in her car and drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

"I know you didn't want to," was the first thing she said, "but you'll have to be in the same room as last time." She frowned at him before pulling out of the car park of the hotel. "I don't see what your problem is, though. You got on perfectly fine with Kōki and Tatsuya seemed concerned when he heard what happened."

Any hope of being comfortable and happy dissipated. "We didn't really part in the best way," Seijūrō explained, rather cryptic, but it was probably the most he could say.

"Well then it's a chance to right that," Riko said. Seijūrō almost laughed at how easy she made it sound. "So you'll be going through some training first, but you should be able to start teaching by the end of the year."

Seijūrō nodded and looked out of the window.

"You obviously won't need to dance but as long as you know how to you can teach. You'll do fantastically."

He nodded again and could only hope that seeing other people dance wouldn't bring what happened to the forefront of his mind every time.

The room was empty when he came in, but as soon as he started unpacking the door opened. He was almost too scared for a while to turn around, but when he recognised the step sent a mockingly sardonic look to Himuro, who returned one equally as sardonic, but with a little upwards quirk at the corner of his mouth. "So, teaching?"

"Hopefully it'll help," Seijūrō said, stretching his leg out and wincing when it throbbed.

The door was opened again but Seijūrō couldn't _really_ bring himself to look up. Kōki sighed, made a bee-line for his desk, gathered some schoolbooks and before he left again informed Himuro that he would be back late.

"How long is it going to be like that for?" Himuro asked when he'd left.

_Not long_, Seijūrō thought. After all, Kōki had attempted to keep him away before, and it had taken a mere couple of days before _he_ was the one instigating the relationship. As long as Kōki _felt_ like he was in control he would feel secure. "I'll fix it," he said confidently, taking a few of his own textbooks and hurrying as much as he could with his leg aching down the corridor and across the grounds to reach the library.

He was at his usual table; not everything had changed then, but Seijūrō froze when he saw him laughing and smiling at someone else. _Kise_.

Seijūrō pressed the heels of his hands onto his eyes, as if that could change what he'd just seen. Obviously it didn't; Kise was still there smiling at Kōki and when he reached across to—what? Seijūrō turned away; he didn't want to know—his heart sank. Things had changed, then. Kise had been his understudy; acting as lovers must have caused them to develop feelings for each other.

"You're back awfully quickly," Himuro said when he was back. "It was that easy?"

Seijūrō gave a small, mirthless laugh and Himuro blinked. "I can't fix it," he explained.

Himuro just seemed confused as Seijūrō turned in, unwilling to see Kōki enter.

Kōki being the first one to turn away from him so easily led Seijūrō to feeling more disdainful than anything else when he woke up. Kōki was still asleep, but he repressed his instincts to flee and go lose his feelings in… anything that meant he could get away. They would be living with each other for the foreseeable future and there was no way he was letting Kōki chase him out, so instead of being childish he decided to take the way of a sage and was doing some biology work on his desk when he woke up.

Kōki, however, seemed to want to do anything but be a sage. He made an awful cacophony when he was getting ready, so much so that Himuro glowered at him before leaving the room, and regularly sent glares and slightly detrimental comments in Seijūrō's direction. Seijūrō pointedly ignored him and pretended to be fascinated by the innate behaviour of a bee's waggle dancing. There was a knock at the door and Kōki went to open it after looking expectantly at Seijūrō, muttering the entire time about the selfish elitist. "Oh, Kise. You're early."

Seijūrō froze and had the distinct impression that a practical joke was being played on him by some higher power.

"Sorry, Furihatacchi. I couldn't wait to get started."

With _what_? A date?

"Give me one minute." He continued bustling about as Seijūrō turned to look at Kise.

After a moment of uncomfortable shifting, he met Seijūrō's eyes and went pale white. Seijūrō didn't even try to rein anything in—as he would have done at any other time. He honestly felt like Kise deserved all the pain he could get and couldn't help wondering if he could defend himself physically. _This_ was the person who was making all communication between him and Kōki nothing more than the bare necessities.

(A part of him was scoffing at that. It wasn't really Kise, it was _them_. Even if Kōki had moved on that shouldn't be a reason to be so hateful.)

Seijūrō knew his eyes could scare people; they definitely weren't normal. And when he felt the anger surging up in him he knew they glowed with something akin to a demonic light. Kōki came back and Kise's gaze broke. "Let's go," he said desperately.

There was a slight possibility that it had had an adverse effect and actually driven Kōki further away from him, but when Kise trembled and almost tripped over the carpet, he couldn't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction.

The silence ate away at it, though, when he realised that he was alone. He hadn't considered this; that Kōki would fall for someone else so quickly. Maybe he should have, when his entire sense of self could change on a whim; it was only common sense that anything else could.

He pushed the books away from him and leant back on his chair. So that was it? _Just like that_, he was alone, and the one person that he thought would be worth showing weakness for moved on?

Getting up, he put some weight on his leg, and when it didn't hurt or even twinge, left the room to get to one of the studios downstairs. They were both empty, and after a deep breath he went through basic positions and _chaînés_, feeling relieved when his leg didn't hurt at all and the black hole in the pit of his stomach slowly started disappeared._ This_ was all he needed; not physical health, not any relationship which would always be in a state of flux. The feel of the floor and the slow stretch of his muscles, letting his body move and shake away any connection or tie to anything living.

The pain came quickly and suddenly, blinding Seijūrō with his intensity, and he cried out as he fell onto his side.

"Sei!"

To begin with, he thought he was hallucinating Kōki's voice calling out to him with such panicked concern. His eyes were closed; maybe the past few weeks had been nothing more than a nightmare and he would wake up and Kōki would be in his arms and he'd never gone to America.

A hand touched his shoulder and when he opened his eyes his leg was burning and Kōki was kneeling next to him, his eyes even wider than usual. Seijūrō couldn't look away. Couldn't let _him_ go. Dancing was just a temporary high, he realised.

"Kōki…" he said, trying to move his leg to get up, but had to stop when the pain flared up again.

"I thought you weren't meant to dance anymore?"

"I'm not."

He sighed and dragged him up to his feet by his arm, ignoring when he winced. "You just did a perfect _pas de poisson_, and it's hurting now?" His tone had changed again to one of annoyance and Seijūrō stepped back from him.

"Just go back to Kise."

"I'm sorry?" he said, seeming amused. Or mocking.

"It didn't take you long to find someone else, did it?" He gave Kōki the coldest glare he could, and from the way he paled and backed away could only assume that it worked.

"Find someone else?"

The innocence in his regard irritated Seijūrō and he'd never wanted to hurt someone so much. "I should have expected it, really." He turned away and started to leave before he said something that he would really regret and would ruin all his chances of even being on speaking terms with him.

"_Expected_ it?" Seijūrō almost felt the drop in temperature in the room as Kōki realised what he meant and caught hold of his arm. "Oh, I get it. Because of how I am."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm _plenty_ aware, Akashi. I've heard it all before. And for your information," he came close. Too close; Seijūrō couldn't look away from him and was irrevocably drawn to him, "all that changes is how I perceive _myself_. The outside world—other people—are constant. Strangely enough, you're not at the centre of this."

He was mocking him. Anger swelled, but it was met head-on by the anger in Kōki's eyes. "What else am I supposed to think? I come back and you're with _Kise_?"

Innocence again, and confusion. "You're the one who has no idea what he's talking about."

"You're lying."

"_I'm_ lying? _You're_ the one who lied to me. _You're_ the one who left. This is all on your head, Akashi."

Pride wouldn't let him, but he wanted to shout out that he _hadn't_ wanted to leave, wanted an entire life with him.

"When did you know that you would be leaving? Tell me the truth now, for once."

"When I went to see my father."

He knew then that he probably should have lied. Kōki's eyes were wet and he covered his face with his hands. "That was…" he started before trailing off. "Of all the days," he moaned to himself. "I _trusted_ you." His hands were shaking as he lowered them and he seemed terrified as he looked at Seijūrō. "You knew how difficult it was for me, but you still said nothing?"

"I couldn't." Kōki exhaled sharply and tugged his hands through his hair. "I couldn't think about it. It didn't even make sense to me then that I would have to leave you." He ached to step forward and touch him, make sure he was really there, really existed. "I just wanted to be with you."

There was relief in Kōki's eyes. And hope; Seijūrō recognised it enough now. "Nothing changed for me, Sei." He shook his head slowly.

The change had been sudden. Kōki was looking at him, half expectantly and half resigned, and they were both waging a war within him. Seijūrō felt like he was hanging off a cliff with no way to know what would happen if he let go.

But something in Kōki's eyes made him think that the hope that he would be there to catch him wasn't such a futile hope. Slowly he let go, and reached his hand forward to touch Kōki's cheek.

He melted under his touch and came forward. "You have to believe me. How I feel about _you_ will not change."

"Then what _is_ it with Kise?"

Kōki seemed exasperated. "I don't know what you inferred, but he's in a relationship with Tatsuya. They got close when Kise was dancing as Siegfried."

"Really?" He shook his head. "Is that why he's a bit mellower?"

Kōki started laughing and put his hand over his mouth. "I suppose."

"So we're…?"

Kōki lowered his hand and slipped it into Seijūrō's. "I'm willing to try again." He was watching Seijūrō's mouth as he spoke and Seijūrō leaned into him slowly. The kiss was small, simple, but Seijūrō felt the world draining out around his feet until they were in emptiness. He was unaware of anything but Kōki's neck under his hand and his slightly chapped lips trapping his.

_**Omake (two years later)**_  
"Are you going to help me with this at all?" Seijūrō was disgruntled, of course. It wasn't often that he had to carry everything heavy himself, and Kōki's smile that he threw over his shoulder didn't help. If it hadn't been for Tatsuya watching him narrowly he would have dropped the box he was carrying to the floor. "What's even in this?"

Ryouta, who was carrying also carrying a box but didn't have much trouble with it, answered with, "Books."

Seijūrō pulled a face and letting it fall onto the sofa, shifting his weight onto his left leg.

"Is it bothering you?" Kōki said in a low voice, noticing his shift in posture.

"Not much," he answered. His leg had gotten a lot better, after all, and if he didn't overdo it there was still a possibility that he could dance again.

Tatsuya pointedly moved the box Seijūrō had just dropped next to the bookcase and Ryouta darted up to him, taking his hand. "What do you think, then?"

Seijūrō's first thought was that the apartment was awfully small, but Kōki smiled brightly. "It's perfect," he said.

What _Seijūrō_ saw as perfect was that he and Kōki would be alone in their room now. Kōki caught his mood with a look, and once they'd helped sort of some of the heavier boxes made their excuses. Ryouta and Tatsuya didn't protest; from the looks _they_ were giving each other it was clear they wanted to be alone as well.

Kōki didn't even seem surprised when, as soon as they were in their room Seijūrō attacked his neck with kisses and undid the zip on the back of his dress. "So _impatient_," he scolded softly. "You should rethink your priorities." Seijūrō ignored the little dig—it wasn't as if Kōki would refuse him—and easily lost himself in Kōki's touch.

Afterwards was watching Kōki with his eyes shut and listening to his breathing slow, marvelling at the light he emitted.

"What are you thinking?" Kōki asked softly. He traced a hand over Seijūrō's neck.

"That we should get married," Seijūrō answered with a smirk.

Kōki raised an eyebrow. "_Now_ you're worried about my virtue?" When Seijūrō sighed and fixed him with a glare he folded his arms across his chest. "We're eighteen, Sei. We're not getting married."

Seijūrō couldn't help but think that it would be remarkably easy to wear him down, what with the slightly longing glances he was giving him.

"When am I allowed to ask you, then?" He rolled to hover over Kōki's body and bite his earlobe.

"Give me ten years."

"_Kōki_."

"It's not _my_ fault. Maybe I want to be with someone who doesn't cry in bed—" Seijūrō kissed him to quieten him.

"Are you never going to let me live it down?"

"Never," Kōki said triumphantly.

And even with the knowledge that he would be further teased, Seijūrō felt only contentment that they would have to stay together to _fulfil_ that promise.


End file.
